December 23, 2002
My office crush has decided that I am the perfect person to give him advice about the boy he's in love with. I sent him an e-mail full of wise but fairly obvious advice. This was, in part, his reply (keep in mind that I am just days shy of 30 and he has just turned 22):
"i REALLY do not mean this to make you feel anything but happiness in knowing that you have helped a friend, but i want you to know that your experience and years have really helped me."
Clearly I must check myself into a nursing home first thing tomorrow.
Jesus Christ.
Plus, at cheerleading practice tonight there weren't enough bases for me to fly, so I had to learn base type things, which I was pathetic at, since I am about one inch taller and three pounds heavier than the flyers (for those of you joining us in the middle of our story, I have been designated a "mid base flyer"). So I had to watch other people do what I wanted to do while not even being able to participate competently in any way.
What if last week's stint as a flyer was a fluke and my entire cheerleading career is like tonight?
Let's look on the bright side, though: at the nursing home, at 5'6" and 135 lbs., I will be a terrific base, able to hurl everybody into the air effortlessly without even taking a break from gumming my apple sauce.
Posted by Faustus, MD at 06:15 PM
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Comments
1) Convivia said (on 12/24/02 at 07:28 PM):
At least you won't have to worry about hemming your pants in the nursing home--you can just let them drag disconsolately behind you as you shuffle down the corridor.
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